


iSurvived

by Alexfoster451



Category: iCarly
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Apocalypse, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-06
Updated: 2010-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexfoster451/pseuds/Alexfoster451
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freddie and Sam  kept Carly reassuringly sandwiched between them as they raided the store. It was  the apocalypse by way of zombies and the show had to go on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	iSurvived

**Author's Note:**

> This is so cracky it just might be unforgivable. Oh well. I had fun. Thanks for reading.

Title: iSurvived

Author: Alex Foster

Category: Horror

Word Count:  1,585

Warnings: Off camera character death. End of the world. Walking undead.

Rating: PG

Summary: Freddie and Sam kept Carly reassuringly sandwiched between them as they raided the store. It was the apocalypse by way of zombies and the show had to go on.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Dan Schneider. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.

Author’s Notes: This is so cracky it just might be unforgivable. Oh well. I had fun. Thanks for reading.

...  
...

  
 _"You're supposed to be setting a good example. Now get back in your coffin immediately!"_  
\- Cemetery Man [Evil Dead]

  


...  
...  
 

  
  
Ultimately it was the show that pretty much got the three of them through the end of the world.

They kept up the routine of the webshow as long as they could, letting that fun craziness become an escape from the horrible craziness on the news every night. Quietly, without telling the girls, Freddie added a public forum to the website specifically for people trying to reach those stuck behind quarantine lines.

It crashed from overuse two days after going live.

His mother existed in a state of wild panic as soon as the news started talking about the strange new virus spreading like wild fire across the world, and even his sci-fi and monster movie trained brain couldn’t fully accept what the sickness seemed to turn people into. Shaky footage on the news showed masses of infected people moving slowly but relentlessly from the government controlled medical zones.

Still she dutifully responded when city officials called for anyone with medical experience to report to triage centers. When she started working shifts at the hospital that lasted for days at a time because they were running out of people to handle all the patients he began to realize what was happening to the world. It wasn't getting better. By then he was spending almost all of his time at Carly’s, their school canceled indefinitely along with just about every other public event.

The building had emptied out fast and the few that remained kept to their apartments, leaving the halls quiet and making the whole situation feel worse. At night Spencer sculpted as a distraction, nothing specific and by morning he would just tear his work down for parts to begin again. Carly sat wrapped in blankets by the window and watched as military trucks finally rolled into Seattle. Freddie would join her most nights and together they would pretend they weren’t really terrified of what was happening.

Only Sam slept. Sprawled over the couch in a jumble of carefree limbs as though she was fully entrenched in either the denial or acceptance stage.

She was also the only one that ventured out for any length of time. Not only to the market for supplies (she seemed to find every canned ham in the greater Seattle area) but Freddie later found out she made her way across town to her house several times. The last visit she returned with dried blood splattered on her sleeve and she never went back home again. He didn’t ask why.

The night of their last show from the studio was the same night the quarantine line broke around Washington. The tech producer inside him wished belatedly that he had thought to grab a camera and record the whole scene Cloverfield style. As it was he only remembered bits and pieces that blurred together in one long flash of horrible:

The men in hazmat suits leading them out of the building.

Carly grabbing his hand in the stairwell and squeezing his fingers so hard her knuckles turned white. He hadn’t complained and gripped back just as tight.

Lines of military trucks in the streets with men holding very big guns standing guard.

People screaming and clawing on the other side of barricades, trying to get at the uninfected civilians.

Carly yelling for her brother when the soldiers started pushing her inside one of the trucks. Freddie spotted Spencer—or at least someone that looked an awful lot like him—on the wrong side of the blockade snarling an answer to her.

He also saw Sam climbing without assistance into a neighboring truck and felt more relief at seeing her face than he ever had in his entire life. She gave him a wink and a little voice inside told him it had to be the acceptance stage.

After that it became even more hazy. He didn’t remember the crash at all. One moment they were driving down the Interstate, the wind pulling at the truck’s canvas canopy, and the next the world was upside down and there was warm stickiness running down his face.

Distantly there was gunfire and screaming and snarling.

He crawled over bodies, some still and others softly moaning, and found a groggy but alive Carly. Hands suddenly pushed through the torn canvas over their heads and ripped it the rest of the way down. Freddie had just enough time to think it was one of them and throw himself over Carly to protect her.

Sam looked down at them and scoffed. "Grab a feel later, Fredward. We gotta bounce."

After that it was a lot of running across deserted highways back toward the city. Sam led them surefootedly to an abandoned waffle house, a soldier’s big gun slung comfortably over one shoulder.

She fired up the grill and there they ate, tended wounds, and Freddie began to realize that Sam Puckett was exactly the type of person to have around when the world ended in a zombie apocalypse. She was better than Max Brooks. While he and Carly were still feeling the sharp pain of loss, she was throwing food into a backpack and making plans. Funny, when he used to think of Sam and Armageddon he always figured she would somehow be the cause of it.

That night Freddie and Carly learned how to steal a car and siphon gas out of a Chevron’s underground storage tank (someday when this was over he was going to ask Sam who _she_ learned from) and with a trunk full of jerky, fat cakes, and canned meats they left the city.

For a while it was different between them—equal parts terrifying and numb that seemed to flow and ebb. They stopped at a sporting goods store just outside of Puyallup for supplies and kept Carly reassuringly sandwiched between them as they raided. Freddie didn't say anything when Sam grabbed a compound bow; she didn't say anything when he took a fencing saber.

They had to fight their way through most of infested Oregon but found a small respite in the deserted and vast northern California.

He drove while Carly slept in the backseat and Sam rode shotgun with a shotgun in her lap. They mostly stayed in the countryside like hobos and pushed steadily away from the cities and the ongoing fight between the military and the hordes of sick. When the radio worked it was impossible to tell from the government controlled broadcasts which side was really winning.

It wasn’t until Freddie moved to put a CD in the dashboard player to kill crackling static coming from the speakers that the dam of awkwardness between them finally broke. Sam, not even looking away from the passing scenery, swatted his hand away from the stack of CDs. "Not that one—it’s lame."

"No, it’s not."

She rapped his knuckles again, harder this time. "Passenger controls the radio. Everyone knows that."

"That’s not the rule!" He fought to keep the car steady while trying to push her hand away. "Driver picks."

"It’s my car," she countered.

"No it isn’t."

" _I_ stole it."

He lost his battle with the car and swerved into the empty oncoming lane but refused to give ground in his slap fight. Sam balled her fist and aimed a shot at his head. It was just a glancing blow however; he’d felt her do far worse and told her as much.

"Guys!" The yelling had woken Carly and she leaned over the center column and threw her arms over the CD stack. "Third passenger trumps all other claims." Before they could stop her, Carly had pulled the entire stack to the backseat.

She tossed one back over the divide. "Play that."

Truce restored, Freddie brought the car back into the proper lane while Sam bobbed her head slightly in acquiescence that, yes, it was a good CD. And just like that the blanket that had smothered them since Seattle lifted and they found their familiar roles waiting for them. The fit was a little snug around the edges, but they were still the same people.

Carly wistfully brought up the show and several ideas she wished they could use to help unite civilian survivors like them. Sam agreed and soon they were firing ideas, mostly what ifs and empty wishes.

Freddie looked to the horizon and saw several tall radio towers reaching into the sky. He’d seen enough zombie movies to know that civilization was looking at a seriously long reboot before the Internet came back.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah, dork?"

"Do you think in the next town you could find a gas powered generator? A big one?"

She frowned at him. "Well, the DIY stores will be picked clean but I can probably find something. Why?"

Freddie didn’t answer and just angled the car toward the distant towers.

Two days later, from inside the barricaded control room of an old radio station, with a generator hot-wired in, they revived iCarly. Freddie boosted the gain as much he could and their voices went out to everyone with a hand crank or battery powered radio in a several state radius.

There was no rehearsal, no skits planned, not yet anyway. They had plenty of time to figure out the new normal in other radio towers across the country. But it felt good, right, broadcasting again. Just the three of them past the end of the world.

"Next to me here is Sam."

"Next to me here is Carly and _we are back_."

"And we’re going to tell you how to stay alive…"

   
 **End  
** ****

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**


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